Consort
by SylverMoonSlyver
Summary: Chapter 364 spoilers. In which the thoughts of two men concern one woman.
1. The Tragedy

It was strange. For a moment he didn't believe it, or that he saw clearly. Blood coated his vision, and he smelled it was her own. A definite level of shock, burrowed deep, twisted inside his gut It was small, but acutely painful.

Contorted and sweating, ripped wide for the world to see, opened to agony only death could follow.

Matsumoto Rangiku should never, ever appear in such a way.

The face of danger had cringed at his lonesome smile years and years ago. He'd chased the dark away by drawing it into himself. He'd bribed her pain away. He'd held her, cursed her, loved her, and left her. He no longer had a claim to her.

Faltering, his smile slipped a moment.

That had to be a damn lie.

Ichimaru Gin steadied with ease, sliding easily into routine. The incentive was that no one would ever know, they couldn't predict the future once he stepped into his underhanded role. Priorities were hard to distinguish, and under that fog he would forfeit most to ensure she wasn't the tragedy.


	2. The Beast

There was a certain erotic quality in seeing Matsumoto Rangiku dying on the ground.

She was bowing to him, reverent in her own blood. The silent praise whispered in his ear, kissed his cold lips.

It was a sight well worth waiting to see. Better than the questions hiding behind her open steel blue eyes, the warmth and pleasure her naked body provided. Satisfaction that she bled for him and because of him shuddered a ravenous crave down his spine, and lower.

Hauntingly, his smile narrowed, eyes greedily drinking the pain from her face, capturing her essence cresting and falling with every breath she could barely draw.

And the moment, with necessity, passed.

He still burned with possession.

Aizen Sousuke never vowed, he _did_. Hassles aside, the woman would remain his _own_; he demanded nothing less. In the end, according to his will, she alone would survive being drawn so close to the belly of the beast.

**(((())))**

**Just an idea I got after reading (and rereading a few times) chapter 364. While freaking out in a ridiculously fangirly way and having a brief chat with a fellow AizenRangiku fan, this came to me.**

**There's a chance I might elaborate some and make this longer. But I'm not sure. I would keep the same pattern, alternating between the two, and so on and so forth. Maybe doing something different each time, maybe continuing the story. It depends on if the readers are interested. So tell me if you're interested.**


	3. The Beauty

Waking up hurt. A lot. A tender spot on her right side, her entire right side, throbbed and jumped with muscle spasms, tendons stretched thin. Not to mention breathing completely wore out the lung on that side.

"Are you awake, Rangiku-san?" a timid voice inquired.

The woman couldn't speak yet. Rangiku rolled her head toward the sound, squeezing her eyes shut before slowly prying them open. Orihime stared down at her, fist held under her trembling chin while her other hand hovered above. Tears ran down her not so childish face, at least, not as childish as Rangiku recalled.

Rangiku recognized the gold ring haloed around her, and sighed with relief.

"Are you alright?" Orihime asked, choking past the uniform questions.

"I'm getting better," Rangiku whispered. Already the throbbing was gone, and only the painful sensation of reliving her ribs being ripped out finalized the process. The halo faded after a moment, and Rangiku slowly sat up. "We made it," she said softly, still favoring her right side. Smiling didn't seem appropriate as Orihime, fighting with a roll of bandages, collapsed into uncontrollable sobs. Alarmed, Rangiku scanned the unfamiliar surroundings, quickly grabbing the girl by the shoulder, a silent fear and excitement seeping into her soul.

"Orihime?"

"They didn't win," the girl hiccupped, and surprisingly angry grey eyes locked with Rangiku's. "Soul Society didn't win. Aizen didn't either," she spat, hiding her face right afterward. "They brought you here," Orihime went on behind her fingers, "and you were almost dead. Aizen told me to heal you."

A chill stabbed Rangiku's spine. Once again she found herself consoling the child, cooing aside as Orihime wept for their predicament and in fury she just couldn't express otherwise.

Despite the anguish of not knowing what had happened and how the shinigami had fallen Rangiku studied the patterns before her cool eyes, mouth set in a very uncharacteristic grim line. And in all this ugliness a thought weaved into the pattern, and it was strangely beautiful.

**(((())))**

**Ok, since this bunny isn't ready to move out yet, I decided I can live with it for a while.**

**Yes, this is neither Gin nor Aizen, but that's just how I'm going to roll. Be back to the guys in the next couple chapters. If FF would allow three main characters on their little list thing, that would make my life a lot easier. But they do not, so I must deal.**

**Thank you for any continuing support! I hope you enjoy the ride as well.**


	4. The Tragedy, Second

Had they won the battle?

Gin wouldn't confess as much. It appeared more of a draw soaked in blood that tilted in their, _his_ favor. Even after the arrival of the Vizards—of whom he remembered little since, for him, that particular portion of the night wasn't nearly as fun as the whole sneaking from and back into Seireitei was—neither side appeared willing to give in. The shinigami maintained the most damage, which hoisted another winning flag in Aizen's court. Las Noches had almost been destroyed in a vicious rage by the ryoka boy, Kurosaki Ichigo, and Kenpachi, who apparently had grown immaculately bored. In the end Aizen's mood was pleasant enough to allow all of his would be prisoners' freedom (he had the barrier trapping them in Hueco Mundo released) with one exception: the girl, Inoue. She stayed. Momentarily she would recover the scattered Ulquiorra, and heal the fatal wounds on Grimmjow and Halibel. Then Nelliel Tu, who inevitably would have her memories returned and her station as Espada again, considering how she still felt towards Ichigo.

It was all part of the game, clearly, and Gin watched the wicked mirth boil behind his captain's eyes and smile.

The winning piece, however, had cost Gin his own personal victory.

Aizen had Rangiku.

Where, the silver-haired fox of a man didn't know, and damn the nickname twice over as it brought no useful qualities that could help Gin find her.

He had gotten second place, and Rangiku had lost. Not completely, but being away from her home would surely concentrate a powerful blow.

Was his mind set on freeing the woman once found? No.

Gin stared at Aizen as he watched the proceeding recovery of Grimmjow on the Hueco Mundo sands.

At least, not in the casual sense.


	5. The Beast, Second

**I don't think it's enough to raise the rating, but a little heads up on the content of the chapter. If you're not comfortable with steaminess then don't read.**

**(((())))**

An expanse of skin sloped between Aizen's wicked glance into hazy steel grey eyes. Amazing how in effect of his dominion she still resisted his aggressive advances. Between the shuddering breaths and low moans she managed to steadily emit her will. She was playing a dangerous game, but games were not worth time or effort if anything less than a life was at stake.

It drove the ex-captain wild.

Rolling his tongue across her toned stomach he considered the mistake of falling for this woman's wiles, and found no fault in himself. He collected his rightful dues. She however left herself open to the dangers of association. She was captive. And she defied him. Her body and mind may have yielded according to the acts in which he bestowed upon her, but her spirit refused consent to his command, his will. She mocked him with smiles, smirks, and short laughs, fighting against him.

She was a match.

Aizen could not despise the fact, and yet he did somewhere in the dark of his egomaniacal depths. Love was far beyond his comprehension; possession was all he claimed.

When Rangiku managed to removed the top half of his uniform she chuckled softly, staring him in the eye. Aizen tore the ugly blackness of the shihakushou from her shoulders, meeting her fevered mouth in a cold passion driven insanely by the craving to control. This woman would bow before him again, not in her blood but with her spirit. Those demanding eyes would know utter sorrow and crumble under his gaze.

Those who contended with gods could do nothing else but fail.


	6. The Consort

This was perhaps the very first time Rangiku ever witnessed Aizen Sousuke sleep. His face betrayed the mind inside, and left his face smooth, emotionless, without simmering hostility and self-absorption. In effect, sleeping Aizen was the lasting remnants of Captain Aizen, the man everyone presumed they knew and many loved. Rangiku mistakenly segregated herself from that category; she had glimpsed a darker side to the calm, agreeable captain. When the man had first possessed her in bed he compromised himself. Although his control was phenomenal she had still cringed and drew closer to the beast trapped behind once warm, understanding brown eyes. The call was nothing short of intoxicating. In spite of the tangling seductions she still had had no imagination to conjure the affects of the true waiting animal. And now as he lay upon his back, dead in slumber, Rangiku burned. She traced her collarbone where teeth marks bruised her skin.

She truly hated this man. His body contorted her hate into a tangible form that sparked unbelievably when their mouths touched, like a cold storm meeting hot air. Natural disasters occurred. And yet here she was, forgotten, and he fully exposed. Of course her zanpaktou was nowhere near the room, but the finicky feline yowled deep behind her thoughts for being left alone in a strange place. Perhaps snapping the bed post, or strangling or smothering would suffice. Rangiku blandly observed his breathing, the rise and fall of the chest she studied well with her teeth and tongue. It would not do if she died alongside Aizen; she had to stand while he fell. The calm drive steadied her thundering heart, and she wrapped herself in the blanket, moving to the sliver of a window overlooking the barren desert of Hueco Mundo.

Pressure in the atmosphere shifted.

He was smiling, she could tell. Her skin crawled in that almost embarrassingly warm way, and the moment became heated. She was trapped between Aizen and the stone cold wall, just as she fool-heartedly became trapped between Aizen and Seireitei, between the plots and the oblivious. Honestly Rangiku would reclaim her oblivious card anytime, any day. But the depth of this involvement, at which she never could have guessed, rooted far beneath the fresh hate.

When Aizen released her, dismissing Rangiku with a smoldering kiss that poured fire down into her toes, she wandered the halls. Trying to recall Orihime's directions and any landmarks—which did not exists seeing as the entire place appeared consistently the same—Rangiku finally stumbled upon an open room, and cautiously went inside. The destruction of Las Noches had not touched this room surprisingly, and the simple bed covered in simple coverings sang to her tired mind. The bold dark colors and decorations of Aizen's personal chambers threaded ache through her head, like a hangover. And the aftermath of their unbridled, heavy attentions completely wore her out.

Heaving herself into bed, Rangiku slowly drifted off to sleep with a familiar scent wrapping around her.

Through more halls and across to a small tower half exposed to the unchanging elements of Hueco Mundo Gin retracted his long fingers from a control board. He rose from the chair, walked to an open wall panel where wires writhed and disappeared. He took one and, turning to watch the white lines crawling across the broad board, ripped the wire from the wall. A particular section of lines, indicating manipulative halls and doorways, winked out, then glared red, little words blinking a warning of the loss of power.

Gin left, locking the door behind him.

He knew Aizen was a very confident man, very patient. Aizen's mind was amazingly focused and contorted. Gin, however, was not a very patient man, and his thoughts, while not bent in such a manner as his captain's, was equally twisted and curved, much like his smile. Constant confusion and intimidation tactics were practiced to each their own technique. These facts drew Aizen to Gin when he was but a child and kept the mastermind warped around his pride: a ward, a true cohort, a son even. The one difference between them rested in the inevitable affliction of one woman, whom Aizen had taken into uninhibited danger when Gin had left her behind for that exact reason.

Call it an Achilles' heel.

Matsumoto Rangiku unmistakably registered as a weakness when presented under the watchful eyes of her one-time lover and friend. For Aizen Sousuke, she should be nothing less.

After all, Gin and Aizen had so much in common.

**(((())))**

**Alright folks…I'm scared that I might have to raise the rating. I know it's already T and T is a good rating to be at. I'll try to keep it like it's been but this story seems to be going in a direction a little rougher than I've ever gone in. I **_**will**_** try but I must go where the muses lead me. And at the moment the muses aren't showing me many glimpse of the future... Just a heads up though.**

**On a lighter note, thanks for stopping by!**


	7. The Consort, Affliction

In the act of persuasion one's side had to be chosen and melted into solid gold, pretty, inventive enough to lure a hapless mind into the trap. However unstable the views produced for consideration determined the inevitability of the prey falling victim to the charms, true or otherwise. Therefore, Ichimaru Gin had a slight problem.

By stepping across the border of Aizen Sousuke's plans for domination when he crossed scared grounds to retrieve Rangiku from the dark man's clutches Gin would surly befall a nasty fate. He was taking a stand perhaps completely by his lonesome, and it was a lonely feeling curdling in the pit of his stomach. Gin had crossed a line before when he defected from Soul Society, when he left the woman behind. Had that choice been sanctified? Not entirely, but he was committed to the cause for whatever reason. It sounded like fun when he was a child, and Gin's word controlled his life. It was why he never spoke unless he truly meant it. To who he spoke could take his meaning however they wanted. It was his face that was the lie, not the words from his twisted mouth. So when he fell for the woman, he never said to her more than he could afford. It was what slowly drove her away from him, though in his own accord.

He never said he would return because he was never positive he would the next time; he never said when he would leave because sometimes that seemed entirely impossible.

He never apologized because he never had anything to be sorry for.

But now writhing behind the smile that broke assumed promises and told unsaid lies Gin was for once unsure of his actions. As he walked the halls, aware so vividly of the complications he brought upon himself all those years ago with a single, purely accidental kiss of death, he worried.

Ichimaru Gin did not care for worrying. He hated being sick, and the hard pain that rolled around in his insides. Worry felt much the same.

And here he'd always thought his conscious had seared itself enough to pass between loyalties with ease. Then again, hadn't he always been loyal solely to Aizen? From the very start of his career as a shinigami Gin had been enveloped in Aizen's scheme.

Gin walked from the halls out onto a wide balcony overlooking miles and miles of sand. The moon shone through in invisible filter, and the teeming Hollow beneath the surface were all too far below to emit sounds.

Maybe it was time for a little change in scenery.

(())

_You are a fool._

Gin smiled, unclenching the rail. He stepped back from the balcony edge, where he had stood for the better part of an hour.

"If I am, then so are you."

The zanpaktou, speaking from his place conjoined with Gin's soul, scoffed, and it sounded much like a slivering hiss.

_I don't think so. Your thoughts are mad._

"Wasn't as sane as I looked, last time I checked with myself."

_This has nothing to do with the battle! This has nothing to do with war. You gave her up long ago. It's too late to start pining now._

"You gave something up as well," Gin noted, touching the hilt of his sword. "Are you going to show yourself?"

Another scoff, and the bold, big outline of a hooded snake appeared, coiled, his broad head held leveled with his shinigami's. Brilliant topaz orbs steadily watched with slit pupils of royal blue. A forked tongue, diamond-black in color, flicked once, twice, before the zanpaktou spirit spoke.

_Happy?_ Venomous sarcasm, deadly like poison, dripped from between the serpent's pointed, pearl-black fangs. The snake's mouth was snow-white, like a water moccasin, and yet the shape of Shinso's head bespoke of cobra. Black diamond shapes rowed down his back in the manner of a copperhead, but they glittered against the amber-gold of his other scales. His underbelly was pure silver-grey like a deadly sharp and perfect blade. A rattle decorated the tip of his tail, and it was gemmed with multiple colors and shapes of precious stones that all created an almost soothing chime when Shinso expressed his irritation.

"For the moment," Gin said, still captured by the almost unholy beauty and divineness of his zanpaktou's form.

_We have lost much in our time,_ the serpent relented with usurped mulishness in his unblinking gaze. _But we will lose everything if we suddenly remove his current obsession._

Gin's skin, usually comfortably cool due to his lack of muscle mass, warmed and crawled with frustration and, surprising himself and the zanpaktou, disgust. His smile turned a fraction sheepish, but he shrugged a slender shoulder.

"It's a task."

_And what is the reward?_ Shinso asked, knowing the answer. His tongue flicked madly, tasting the charge in the atmosphere.

The smile spreading Gin's lips then mirrored the natural curve of Shinso's serpentine mouth.

(())

Finding a random room to rest in wasn't very hard. Honestly, when she went to sleep she wasn't worried; she was tired. Worn out by Aizen's stupid games. She would have taken a grubby cot to get decent shut-eye.

Maybe not.

Rangiku took yet another wrong turn, or whatever turn, swearing she remembered coming this way with her escort: a rather creepy green-eyed man with dark tearstains running down his face. The downturn set on his mouth had suddenly made her want to see Gin's perpetual grin. He didn't say much, kept his white hands in his pockets. Despite his stern mask he was very agitated, restless. Those eyes weren't nearly as controlled as he figured. Rangiku was glad when he left, only to face one of the biggest nightmares of her life that she secretly didn't want to wake up from. She could still _feel_ Aizen's hands, his mouth, his everything fighting against her. It made her tired all over again just thinking about it. Tired, yet prepared for the next battle.

He reminded her of alcohol. It was fun, had different results each time, and addicting, but was also bad for that very reason, and it was harmful. But the flavor, especially when it had good texture, made it highly enjoyable and hard to quit once filled with more than one could handle.

She didn't really like her slight—or more—infatuation with alcohol either, come to think of it

Another corner went by, and another and another until Rangiku gave up completely. It all looked the same; it wasn't some aftermath-of-sex-with-Aizen that impaired her sense of direction. She was completely lost.

Damn it.

For good measure, she hurried back, just to see if she could stumble upon Aizen's room again when a sudden smell, spiritual pressure, and chest blocked her way.

"Oh," Gin smiled in a sing-song voice, like he was mocking her. "Rangiku. Good to see you. Where you headed?"

"That's really none of your business, now, is it?" she smiled sickly sweet, moving around him. He stepped, nonchalantly, into her way, muttering a stupid "oops".

"Where're Aizen's rooms?" she demanded, ignoring his comment.

His smile almost—almost—disappeared. He shrugged, giving her a predatory smirk that she didn't appreciate, and made her remember things long past at the same time.

"Now, why do you want to find Aizen-_taichou_?" Gin asked slowly, drawling. His grin dripped hunter.

She shivered like the hunted.

Rangiku scowled, crossing her arms and taking a very unusual stance leaning to the side with one leg, the one she wasn't standing on, forward a bit. It was a no-nonsense stance. Gin recognized it. "Also none of your business," she stated.

"Ah," he nodded, slithering up to her and, while her hands were preoccupied with being defensive, touched the lock of hair hanging beside her eye.

She started.

Clearly, he was making it his business.

Rangiku opened her mouth to reject him, to send him off or leave in a huff—he was confusing her. Gin slipped his mouth over hers, and she reacted. His shoulder thudded against the cold stone of the wall, and Rangiku worked heavily at his lips, biting, and generally overpowering his nonexistent advances. The front of his uniform was in disarray, her hands raking across what skin she could touch. It took a moment, but Rangiku realized that he wasn't fighting back.

For a moment she thought he was Aizen.

Dread cleaned the heat from her blood in a drastic rush. Rangiku threw herself off Gin, wide-eyed. Gin, however, followed her step for step until she was pressed against the opposite wall, and he hovered while she stared blankly at his chest. He ignored the red whelps rising on his stomach, but Rangiku could do nothing else but stare at them.

He was still smiling.

Slowly, so not to startle her again, Gin dipped his head, watching her eyes trail his movement, until he touched her collarbone with his lips, feathering against her skin. He kissed her once. He kissed her again in the same manner on her tense jaw, and at the corner of her mouth. Gin took her face, cupped in one palm, the other bracing against the wall beside her hair, and he kissed her lips, easing his tongue over them, worshiping her as his fingertips equally as slow feathered down her neck, over her collarbone, and lower. Her knees buckled.

Immensely clear, he was making something his business.

Gin touched her cheek once before he released Rangiku from the wall. His smile was old and familiar; it didn't bother her, like it always had.

He left without a word, while she touched her mouth with a wildly trembling hand.

Oh goodness she had missed that. Had she? Hadn't she? Gin hadn't paid much attention to her in a good while. And now she was just more confused, and in a way much worse than wandering stupid halls in a stupid place filled with even more stupid people.

Ah, damn it.

**(((())))**

**Oh my God I've wanted to write that scene with Gin and Rangiku for the LONGEST time. And now I finally could! I'm a very happy fangirl.**

**But what's this going to spell for the Hueco Mundo love triangle-thing? Tune in next time to find out on the hottest new soap opera: Damn, I Wish I Was Her! Seriously though.**

**Oh, and yay for longer chapters! I knew it was bound to happen one of these days.**


	8. The Consort, Persuasion

**Wow, I fail at life. No, wait, too dramatic. Wow, I fail at updating my fics. Better.**

**Well I'm not dead, folks. I'm really sorry for the ridiculously long wait. Gah. I had to reread everything and then realize that I still did like Bleach and ask myself what the hell was I doing not finishing these stories?**

**-Sigh-**

**So I return with an update and an apology. I hope it doesn't happen again.**

**(((())))**

Ulquiorra was praised for his cold intellect. The unwavering calculations of his acute mind condemned the innocent and the damned in the same passing thought. His power was contained precisely to the degree that a second release, akin to a shinigami's bankai, was hidden from the very eyes of Aizen Sousuke. His emotionless mask betrayed unfeeling flames of loyalty and utter devotion to those whom he held worthy. And in his uncultured-emerald gaze, _no one_ was held so high. Not in a position of power, authority, intelligence. These Ulquiorra all boasted himself, therefore could find no compromise with another being. Not from this plane of existence.

Not unless that being swam in a lake of compassion so deep even Ulquiorra couldn't fathom its depth.

A small Arrancar chattered away, snuffling through the damage done to a single wire of hundreds cluttering the wall of the hallway control room. Clearly this was intentional, as Ulquiorra noted with a deceivingly lazy glance at the white-lined board. The door had been locked.

"Right," the little Arrancar sputtered. "It's this here, Ulquiorra-sama. This here."

"I see," the Espada said, turning. "Have this room sealed again."

"But, Ulquiorra-sama, it needs fixing. And—"

The Arrancar scrambled from the room, finding the hall empty. He muttered to himself, and went to repair the mess.

He never reached the bared wire panel.

(())

"Sabotage?" Aizen wondered indifferently, stroking his strong jaw once. The liquid ice of his brown eyes slowly danced across the unflinching face of Ulquiorra.

"Yes, Aizen-sama," the Espada reiterated. "In the Walk Control Room. A section of wires commanding the halls was torn apart."

Aizen calmly studied the corpse at his feet. The idea of sabotage was not new, not in the millennia in which the earth had thrived. But to have a worm chewing at his own strings? Aizen could only smile coldly. All good plans required a few unwarranted holes. Rest assured that none would escape those holes alive, however.

"You're usually less sloppy, Gin," Aizen illuminated, leaning to the left, and propped his chin within a design of his fingers.

The grinning man shrugged, edging around the dead Arrancar's nearly messily removed head. "He ran," Gin said, turning the grin into a maliciously taciturn threat. "Guilty men run."

"Or self-preserving men," Aizen added. He turned back to Ulquiorra, who stood stone-like to the side. "Has the problem been fixed?"

"Repairs are being made as we speak, Aizen-sama."

"You're dismissed."

Ulquiorra bowed deeply, forgoing the affirmed fist to his chest.

"Ulquiorra," Aizen commanded, changing his mind. "How is our guest?"

The Espada paused, staring for the words. His eyes did not flicker in search for his response.

"The woman is…troubled."

"Troubled?"

"She frets, and has dreams that scare her."

"Will she not confide in you?" Aizen asked, drifting his fingers closer to the corner of his mouth, as if physically stifling the twitch of a dark smirk.

Ulquiorra did not miss the gesture; Aizen counted on that.

"She will not."

"See that she doesn't kill herself," Aizen said breezily, if not with a bit of an annoyed undertone, waving the Espada from the chambers. "Or go raving mad."

"As you wish, Aizen-sama."

It was a true pity, that one. Ulquiorra's resurrection had confused him. With any luck at all Ulquiorra would settle his doubts and issues, otherwise Aizen would sorely miss the addition to his collection.

Aizen roved his attention to the smelling corpse. A haunty expression clouded his face, the blackness in his gaze rekindling. It was a terrifying face when accompanied by a smile.

"I'm surprised, Gin," he elongated, stringing his surprise out for no mistake to be had. "Acts of loyalty aren't in your willing nature."

"It's a cover story." The laughing tone of Gin's voice conflicted with the dark twist in his smile and the sharpness of his hidden eyes.

Aizen lifted his brows. "Is it?"

"Isn't it always, Aizen-taichou?"

(())

The dead of night appeared no different from noontime in Hueco Mundo. It was a fact that Rangiku dealt with, and got over. The entire atmosphere was dappled in gray heaviness. Absently she wondered if Soul Society would appear the same way if the air were charged with so many spiritual particles. Damp with reitsu, yet hopefully not as bland with a gritty, bitter aftertaste.

Then again, Soul Society didn't thrive off reitsu alone, but the act of living itself, whether in Rukongai or Seireitei.

Here she went, drifting to a better place and time. Rangiku tried to focus on a single moment where she would rather be than here, but resolved to leave that question unanswered. Her life was riddled in good memories, and yet each seemed tied somehow to the bad. Pleasure came with pain. It was yet another fact Rangiku dealt with and would never really get over, but would rather accept and ignore.

The sedated blonde glanced at the man dressing at the foot of the bed and smirked a little, cocooned rather languidly within his silken sheets. Almost immediately the haziness of after-sex blinked from her body, and the heat that had poured from Aizen's fingers into her blood went cold and murky. The only satisfaction now was that he rose before she did this time, apparently having pressing matters to attend that could no longer wait. The normal night ended with Rangiku leaving, as it had been long before these tumbles in Hueco Mundo. The scene just fit in the past: the woman appearing at his door, the making of purely illegal passions, and a fare-the-well at an hour in which no one would be the wiser. Rangiku could pass her early escapes as habit, but really she just wanted to see if she could recall the moment prior to Aizen consuming her for the first time.

With what Gin had smelted onto her lips not a day ago, Rangiku found she didn't have to reach so far back anymore. And that truly worried her.

Rangiku watched Aizen tie the red sash around his waste, and stifled a laugh. Her face smoothed just as he glanced her way again. Aizen didn't like the way things proceeded. It grated his mistakenly untouchable ego. Rangiku rose first, he never did.

It was a fun little game, if not slightly dangerous. If Aizen hadn't guessed Rangiku's perception of his reaction to her thwarting his formalities, then she had gained a great advantage.

All would surface when he embraced her next.

For her following step toward toeing the boundaries he had most likely set, Rangiku asked, "Do I get a guard?" Aizen turned to her, his expression surprisingly unreadable, the smile straightened and mellow on his ravaging lips. Perhaps she struck a nerve, or actually surprised him. "Someone to help me around this place?"

"Do you want one?" he replied levelly.

She shifted, stretching her body out before answering. His eyes watched, piercing the thin material hiding her from him. Rangiku smiled. "I don't see why not. Orihime has Ulquiorra."

Looking back into her eyes, Aizen carved a smile from the air, turning the calculating madman into a devil. The unadulterated laughter screeched behind his liquid-brown eyes. Rangiku knew she'd lost this battle.

"I'm sure you can find someone willing."

Only when he departed did Rangiku rise and dress herself, donning a crisp white mockery of her shihakushou littered in luscious spans of silk and satin, contracting a soft sigh from the woman as it slid across her chilled skin. The gooseflesh receded after she raked her fingers through her hair and situated the front of the clothing that was, if at all possible, a little more revealing than the woman was comfortable with.

Aizen had a mirror; one that she now looked at herself in, hands braced on her hips. It surprised her initially, but then it maintained a sense of relative familiarity that Rangiku couldn't imagine Aizen without a mirror. Not that the man pestered with his image, no. His egomaniacal fingers didn't reach so far. Or, she should say, so _short_. His case was far more advanced than a pretty-boy obsessing over his appearance. In truth Rangiku couldn't figure it out. She wasn't positive she was willing to delve so deep into Aizen's psyche. She didn't _need_ to understand his every twist and turn. She sure sa hell didn't _want_ to. Getting by on the skin of her teeth was more of a Matsumoto Rangiku fashion anyway.

"_I'm sure you can find someone willing_."

Rangiku frowned, passing out into the obscurely hellish hallways. Aizen didn't outright tell her no, or recommend anyone.

He had someone in mind, then.

Truth be told, so did she. The second the request spilled from her mouth Rangiku was picturing Gin. He would be the logical choice, the predictable choice.

So Rangiku set her eyes on someone else.

**(((())))**

**Again, I apologize for the wait. Life sucks sometimes. Let's leave it at that.**

**It is, however, good to know that I haven't lost the ball for this muse. Dropped it, yes, but didn't lose it.**

**Gah! I miss my GinRanAi! –sadface-**


End file.
